


Merry Christmas, Baby

by rubygirl29



Category: The Avengers (2012)
Genre: Christmas, Crack, M/M, Merry Christmas, Songfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-22
Updated: 2012-12-22
Packaged: 2017-11-22 00:51:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,137
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/604005
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rubygirl29/pseuds/rubygirl29
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Maria, Natasha, Sitwell and Fury are tired of Clint and Phil avoiding their feelings for each other ... but are they?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Merry Christmas, Baby

**Author's Note:**

> I love holiday fics, and this is unapologetic all out Holiday -- a little smarm, a little crack, kissing and mistletoe. This is not at all what a Christmas party as S.H.I.E.LD. would be, and my apologies for verging on crack, but who wants to be all dry and sour over the holidays? Written for Clint/Coulson holiday exchange to the prompt: Sitwell, Hill, Natasha and even Nick Fury try to matchmake Clint and Coulson.

Inspired by: [This](http://youtu.be/wi9kvO2zL2E)

 

S.H.I.E.L.D. may be a super-secret government agency with special agents, deadly assassins, computer geeks, weapons experts, and superheroes on their payroll, but that doesn't mean they don't succumb to the time-honored tradition of the annual office Holiday party. As far as Director Fury knows, nobody has gone so far as to dance with a lampshade blon their heads, but for some reason, he gets a kick out of watching his super-serious subordinates lose some of their inhibitions.

There is even a Christmas tree, and from this distance, the ornaments look festive, _normal_ until a closer look reveals old cell phones, wiped flash drives, circuit boards, shell casings that have been pierced to be hung like deadly icicles, and arrowheads threaded into garlands. The Menorah is made of smoke grenades and candles. Fury is amused. Nobody has ever said that S.H.I.E.L.D agents lack creativity.

There is a black leather Santa hat on Fury's desk. He flicks the tassel, grins, and settles in to wait for the fun to begin.

^*^*^*^*^*^*^

"We should do something," Sitwell says. "It's getting ridiculous."

"It could be a distraction at some point in the future," Maria Hill agrees. 

Sitwell thinks Hill looks distracting enough in a man-tailored tux and a sequined red camisole. Across from him, Natasha is also wearing black, but with gold and green drop earrings and a solitaire emerald on a gold chain around her throat. Jasper, in his best suit, feels positively drab even though he has accessorized with his "holiday" tie -- gun-toting reindeer -- if you look closely enough. 

"We could lock them in a room and let them figure it out," Natasha sighs. 

"I thought we tried that on the last mission," Jasper says. "As I recall, Barton slept and Coulson played Angry Birds until we broke through the bunker."

"That was on a mission," Hill reminds him. "They're both professionals. They wouldn't jeopardize an operation. Still ... it's getting a little old."

"Unrequited love is a waste of time," Natasha is relentlessly practical. "Give them time to have a few more drinks and then I'll set the plan in motion."

"This isn't an op," Hill leans against Natasha. "How long will that take?"

"It is an op. Operation Denial is a River in Egypt." Maria giggles. Natasha doesn't blink. "Jasper, Agent Espersen has been looking at you like a lambchop all evening. You should buy her a drink."

"Espersen? Really?" Sitwell squeaks. Espersen is a blonde Valkyrie of a woman, wearing an ice blue sheath dress that matches her eyes, and has every man in the room drooling and cowering ... except for Jasper. 

"The woman is smitten. Go, chat her up." Natasha nudges his leg. "We need a distraction."

"I do better work with C-4."

Natasha rolls her eyes. "Go. Now."

Sitwell straightens his tie resolutely and approaches Espersen like she's a target. Hill snorts into her cocktail. When she puts it down, she and Natasha exchange a look. "Tag team?"

Natasha nods. "I'll take Barton first."

Hill nods. "That makes sense." 

"It's not a military maneuver," Natasha says severely, but her dimples are showing. 

"If the situation was reversed, that's how they'd approach it." She brushes off her tux, touches her hair. "Why are men so amazingly blind when it comes to ... you know ..."

Natasha raises a brow questioningly. "Love? Sex?"

"God, don't talk about sex. I have to work with these men. I won't be able to look Coulson in the eye." She tosses down her cocktail. "Once more into the breach."

Natasha waits a moment before she stalks over to Clint. He's standing by the bar, a bottle of beer held negligently in his fingers. He's talking to one of the baby agents, who is hanging on his every word; but his eyes eyes are on Coulson. _Hopeless,_ Natasha thinks.

When the baby agent sees her, she takes off, pale and wide-eyed. Clint smirks at her. "Did you have to scare her, Nat?"

"Don't call me that, and I can't imagine why she'd be afraid of me. I don't know her."

"Everybody knows you." 

"I can't help that, either." She eyes him. "You clean up well." He does. Tonight he's wearing a dark gray suit, a lighter gray shirt, and a tie that is a fascinating weave of purple and gray. She gives him a suspicious look. "Did Stark take you shopping?"

"He _likes _me. He introduced me to his tailor."__

__"Did he pay for it?"_ _

__For a brief second he seems nonplussed. "No! I'm not that kind of guy," He bats his eyelashes at her. "I have my standards."_ _

__"Hmm. How does Coulson measure up to your standards?"_ _

__"Coulson? Phil?" He can look as innocent as a choirboy but he can't stop the blush on the tips of his ears and his cheeks. Adorable._ _

__"Why not? He's interesting. He's smart, he's got a nice body and he has a _thing_ for you, in case you haven't noticed. Think about it." She pours a Grey Goose over ice and leans in, balancing lightly on his arm. "You know you want him. It's Christmas, Clint. Give yourself a present." _ _

__Maria sees her gliding away from the bar. She turns back to Coulson and their conversation about some new tech that Stark Industries is developing. "And I suggested that they send us prototypes so Barton can test them." Phil is nodding at her, making sensible comments, but his eyes are fixed on Clint. _Perfect.__ _

__"I never knew Barton owned clothing other than jeans, a field suit, and sweats. That suit is a surprise." She looks at Coulson from beneath her lashes. "I think Stark had a hand in this. You're a man who knows suits. What is your assessment?"_ _

__"What?" Coulson blinks at her like he isn't quite sure he actually heard her. "Stark's making Barton a new field suit?"_ _

__Maria laughs. "No, Phil." She pokes him in the chest. "If it weren't for my Margarita courage, I'd never do this, it's Christmas, right? "_ _

__"I have no idea what you're talking about." Phil deadpans._ _

__Is he really that clueless? Maria glowers at him. "Barton. He can't keep his eyes off you, and you've been watching him during this whole conversation. So, _do_ something about it, please, before you both spontaneously combust." She thrusts his glass into his hand. "Here, get another drink if you need a cover story."_ _

__"I don't need a cover story to talk to Barton," Phil says, "If I go over there will that make you happy?"_ _

__"The question is, will it make you happy?" She taps his arm. "Go."_ _

__^*^*^*^*^*^*^  
Phil wonders when had he become so transparent? For years he had been circumspect, cautious. He didn't have affairs, and certainly not with S.H.I.E.L.D. associates. He dated -- the term serial monogamist was pretty descriptive of his habits. He liked women, preferred men, but whoever he was with, he stayed with them until the relationships ended; amicably for the most part. Somehow the rumor had started that Phil Coulson didn't have a heart. _ _

__Barton was annoying, aggravating, talented. He sprawled on Coulson's couch, ate his snack food, dropped from ceilings and smiled charmingly. He was incapable of stillness, except when he drew a bead on a target -- then he was as motionless as stone until he made the shot. After a mission, he always came to Phil, sitting on the sofa in his office, quiet with an emotion that Phil could only call grief. By the next day, he would be back to his annoying, insubordinate self._ _

__Phil didn't know who he fell in love with; the assassin, the quietly intelligent agent, the _boy_ he sometimes seemed to be, yet never had been. He fell in love with his beauty, his vulnerability, his courage, his smile. He fell hard, and was not at all surprised when Clint caught him. _ _

__Phil doesn't have a heart. He has given it to Clint Barton._ _

__He walks over to the bar where Clint is leaning easily against the wall, watching him with hooded eyes. He looks predatory, but he is betrayed by the smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. Phil can't deny that he's been looking at Clint all evening. His beautifully, tailored suit and the gorgeous tie (Phil's always been all about the ties), the lie of his muscles beneath the fabric, the way it highlights the blue-gray hue of his eyes, how could Phil not look? He had thought he was being more circumspect, but it was Christmas and the drinks had been flowing freely._ _

__Clint is smiling now, pretense forgotten. "Nice party," he says. "I didn't know Fury had it in him."_ _

__"It's blackmail fodder."_ _

__"Ah, now that sounds like Fury." He pours more champagne for Phil, and opens up another beer for himself. He is about to make a toast, when Sitwell's voice blares from the speakers of ... God, a karaoke machine ..._ _

__Phil shakes his head. "What is it with S.H.I.E.L.D. agents and karaoke?"_ _

__Clint looks at the line-up of agents waiting to make utter fools of themselves. "I think it has to do with working undercover so much. This is something _real_."_ _

__"Is it real?"_ _

__Clint leans in, whispers to Phil. "As real as it gets, babe."_ _

__"You know Natasha and Maria are trying to set us up."_ _

__"I'm fine with that if you are, sir."_ _

__Coulson sighs. "Sir? You're trying to seduce me and you call me _sir_?"_ _

__"Not trying. I am." He crooks a finger at Sitwell and walks away, the break of the jacket so perfect over his hips and ass that Phil bolts down his champagne and nearly chokes on the bubbles. He sincerely hopes that everybody in the room is as wasted as he is._ _

__Clint says something to Sitwell and nods. When he returns to Phil, he's got that Barton smirk on his mouth. "Ready for some fun?"_ _

__"Fun with you usually involves some sort of incendiary device."_ _

__"Can't start a fire without a spark." He moves in close, slides a hand around Phil's waist. The warmth of his palm against Phil's spine is oddly comforting. "Ready?"_ _

__Phil's eyes crinkle. He doesn't have to say a word. The music starts and Clint winks and bounces up on stage. He snags the mic from Sitwell, and suddenly it's like The Boss is in the room singing _Merry Christmas, baby_. _ _

__Clint sings, he mugs to the audience.. He flirts outrageously with Natasha, with Espersen, with the wide-eyed probie, and he dances, which makes Phil's mouth go dry._ _

____I feel real good tonight and I got music on the radio__  
And I feel real good tonight and I got music on the radio  
And the boys in the band are playin' pretty good. 

__He slinks over to Phil during the sax solo, pausing on the way to mug with Sitwell and Maria, who tries to look annoyed and totally fails. Clint is irresistible and nobody knows that better than Phil. He hands off the mic to Sitwell and the next thing Phi knows, he is being maneuvered to the center of the room where a ball of holly and mistletoe is rotating._ _

___Now, I feel just like I wanna kiss you underneath my mistletoe_ _ _

__The music is continuing and Espersen has joined Sitwell on the small karaoke stage with Natasha and Maria as back-up. Espersen plops a Santa Hat on Sitwell's bald head and before he can do anything about it, she is bending him back in a kiss. The room erupts into catcalls and laughs. As a diversionary tactic, it's priceless._ _

__Clint pulls Phil into the hall. He reaches into his pocket and holds up a small green sprig. "That's not mistletoe," Coulson observes._ _

__"Parsley." Clint grins. "It'll do." He braces himself so that the "mistletoe" is over Phil's head. He presses Phil against the wall, his body hard and warm and _aching_ for contact. Phil's fingers brush against the short hair on the back of his neck and curve warmly there. Clint's lips brush against his, and Phil's breath catches roughly in his throat. It isn't their first kiss, it isn't their first _anything_ , but it will never grow stale. _ _

__The music ends and there is a burst of applause. Clint kisses Phil deeply, his tongue dipping in to brush against Phil's enticingly. "Should we go back in?" he asks, his breath whispering against Phil's cheek._ _

__"No." Phil kisses his way along Clint's jaw. "Let them have their delusions of matchmaking. It's their present from us."_ _

__Clint snickers into Phil's neck. "Awesome."_ _

__They leave, arms entwined around each other's waists, pausing occasionally to kiss. The hallways grow progressively more dim. Soon they are gone to shadows, Clint still singing softly, "Merry Christmas, baby."_ _

__**The End** _ _


End file.
